


I'm Getting Older Too

by shrink



Category: South Park RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:17:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrink/pseuds/shrink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt takes the episode "You're Getting Old" personally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Getting Older Too

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a response to "You're Getting Old." Basically it becomes AU following that, as I don't acknowledge "Ass Burgers," etc. Also, I have conveniently made both Matt and Trey single. Forgive any timeline issues/discrepancies in how South Park episodes are put together.

 

“The fans are freaking out,” the rep from Comedy Central said on the phone, “they think it’s the end of South Park, a surprise series finale,” she explained, with a tone that wasn’t altogether light-hearted.

“You know we’re under contract under 2013,” Matt said, leaning on his desk, and holding in a sigh.

“We just wanted to hear it from you,” she said, clearly expecting more.

“Trey and I both enjoyed working on the episode, and we’re looking forward to writing the remainder of the episodes for this season.” It was a stock response, but it should do the trick.

“And Trey feels the same way?”

Matt blinked; he’d never been asked that question.

“Matt?”

“Yeah,” he placed the phone back in the receiver abruptly.

It had been funny to satirize the overly cynical assholes they came in contact with, he’d laughed along with Trey. Until the script came back, and even—no--- _especially_ yle contributed to Stan’s depression. He would have said something then, but they were beyond associating themselves that closely with their avatars on the show. Matt stared down at his coffee. It had been a good episode.

“Hey,” Eric stood in the doorway, “dinner?”

“I’m good,” Matt said, not realizing he’d left the door open.

“Nah, come on—don’t make me eat alone,” Eric leaned his head against the doorframe.

“What are—a 12 year old girl?” Matt smiled, but he knew what this was about. Eric had been shooting him looks since the script was first copied.He minimized the Book of Mormon press release info he’d need to get done today and grabbed his wallet. Eric just widened his eyes, like it might be true. att sighed, “where to?” If Eric wanted to try and make him feel better, maybe he should let him.

They ended up at a pub not far from the studios. Matt dunked a fry into barbeque sauce.

“So Comedy Central just called to confirm that it wasn’t some surprise series finale,” Matt said between sips of his beer, feeling like he was getting something off of his chest.

“I wouldn’t think too much about it,” Eric replied, as if Matt had said something else entirely.

“I know a lot of my ideas haven’t been the best lately,” Matt didn’t mean to say that, but there was something damningly earnest about Eric’s expression that it couldn’t be helped.

Eric looked concerned and leaned in, “If Trey had a problem with the show or with you, don’t you think he’d just tell you?”

“No,” Matt said, and then laughed like it was a joke they were both in on.

“So Kyle can have an Asian man shitting in his mouth when he’s the center of a human centipede, and that’s OK. But if he has imaginary shit coming out of his mouth the _that’s_ veiled insult about your writing abilities?”

“It’s _metaphorical_ shit—and yes. That episode was different. The fans think so, Comedy Central thinks so.”

“Well so, talk to Trey about it,” Eric said, stealing one of Matt’s French fries. He wondered why people always said things like that. As if anyone really believed it was that easy. He couldn’t ask Trey if he thought he was clever enough and expect Trey to answer honestly.

“I want to like,” Matt sighed, running a hand through his short hair, “be funnier,” he glanced up at Eric’s serious expression and backed off, “or something.”

“You don’t need to prove anything to Trey,” Eric said.

“Obviously I do!” Matt said too loudly, before looking back down at his beer as though it’d caused the outburst.

Eric frowned, “look if it’d make you feel better, why don’t you spend some time tonight thinking of ideas ahead of time for the writing meeting tomorrow.”

Matt sighed, but Eric looked too hopeful to dismiss. “Yeah, maybe---hey isn’t it supposed to be your night off or something.”

Eric shrugged, “we’re working on promos.”

“We should head back then,” Matt said, laying a twenty on the table.

When they got back to the studio, Eric disappeared in the animation department, and Matt sat back at his desk. Less than 24 hours until he’d be in the writer’s room facing Trey. When he spoke, did Trey imagine literal shit spewing from his lips? Maybe Eric was right, if he came up with ideas ahead of time, they’d have more time to develop. He wouldn’t have to endure Trey’s half smile he pretends to consider them.

The best way to go about it was to overdose on the news websites, and write ideas as they spring off of whatever’s topical. It’s how he’d always done it—and then leave the rest to Trey to work into a 20 minute episode. He turned on the TV he had in his office, absorbing the entertainment news shows and then the regular news, jotting ideas down all the while. When he stood up make coffee, he realized that most of the lights in the studio were off. The day before they started a new episode was always slow, and he usually wasn’t around to see the studio so dead.

His cellphone buzzed in his pocket, “Matt,” he said.

“Is Trey with you?” It was one of the Book of Mormon people that he’d saved on his phone as “Broadway.”

“No, he’ll be in his office tomorrow if you want to try then,” he said before stuffing the phone back in his pocket.

Everyone had the misguided impression that he and Trey were always together, because in most pictures they were—and in interviews, and in the credits of whatever they’d worked on. But lately, working on South Park was the only time they had been together, under the stale florescent lights of the studio. And even then, Trey was in his office writing and Matt was juggling administrative tasks.

He remembered filming “6 Days to Air” how the producers had wanted them both to walk into the building together. Of course things like that didn’t happen anymore so it had to be staged, he thought, as he measured an overflowing spoonful of coffee grounds into the filter. He remembered feeling sick after filming that, and tried to think of something else as the coffee machine sputtered next to him.

Two hours later the news was jumbles of rebroadcasts and infomercials. It didn’t exactly matter because he had enough material jotted down, it was just a matter of translating it into South Park. He stretched and continued to make rough sketches of ideas that might work. It was hard to do it on his own, and he wished he had Trey to bounce the ideas off of. Sometimes working with Trey on ideas was like pacing down a hallway, and none of the rooms were any good, but suddenly Trey was there opening a door he’d never seen to a room he’d only vaguely imagined.

He pushed away from his desk, and stared annoyed at the clock hanging over his door. It was already 2, and he’d need to wrap this up and get changed before people started filing into the studio around 6.

He knew a few of the animators kept a stash of Ritalin in some drawer. He pulled a few open until he found a bottle. He swallowed two dryly, and returned to his office. If he could only think a little better; be a little more awake than normal, he’d pull it off. He wondered if he’d gotten less smart with time, or if Trey had gotten smarter. He wasn’t sure which he preferred, and bit down on the pen he was holding.

The next day, the writers meeting had gone unexpectedly well.

“I have to start writing before I forget anything,” Trey said, grabbing his notebook and his coke.

Matt nodded, as the other writers grinned at him. It’d worked, all it took was one sleepless night. It’d been hard to pass his ideas as “off the cuff,” but then, he’d never been good at acting. He turned down the offers of the other writers for lunch. He needed to get to the work he put off last night.

He sat behind his desk for a few minutes, thinking about the way Trey had looked at him when he said something that made him smile. It never got old.

“Matt,” his assistant stood in the doorway with a frown, “they want you to fly to NYC for tonight’s show. The Times is doing a write-up and want to interview you or Trey for the piece.”

He ran a hand through is hair. This is the stupid PR shit that Trey said Matt was so good at. What he meant is, by comparison. “Yeah, book a flight.”

Twelve hours later his leg bobbed on floor of LaGuardia. He’d slept shakily on the flight over, and munched on the Cliff bar he’d stored in his travel bag.

His pocket buzzed, and he looked down at Trey’s number on the screen, “Yeah?”

“What are you doing in NYC, we’re in the middle of an episode,” Trey’s voice had that annoyed nasally tone that wasn’t typically directed at him. Luckily, it was diminished over the phone.

“They needed one of us to do press tonight,” Matt said, watching people in expensive suits crowd the airport Starbucks across from him.

"’Kay…did it have to be in person?”

"I’m flying back tonight,” he said evenly. Interviewers loved to ask if he and Trey ever fought. They always answered no, because it was true. But he wondered now, not for the first time, if it wouldn’t be better if they would sometime.

“We want to get the recording done by lunch tomorrow,” Trey said.

“Alright, see you then,” Matt stared down at the screen.

Five days later Trey was in a considerably better mood as they screened final edits of the show. The animators and writers sat around him and Matt could still hear them laughing from his office. The problem with coming up with great ideas for this episode meant that he’d have to do as good or better for next weeks’. And the first writing session started tomorrow. He’d already started jotting down ideas in his notebook, staying later to develop them. The problem was, between the Broadway stuff, and the show stuff, it was hard to ever really get ahead.

“Hey,” Trey waved a hand through the air.Matt blinked, and stared guiltily at the Word document outlining possible show ideas.

“We have pizza, and probably pussy organic shit for you too,” Trey said, sipping his Coke Zero pointedly.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec,” Matt watched as Trey plopped down on the chair across from his desk.

“Can you believe we’re getting this in before the deadline—that’s got to be the first time in four years,” he swirled the soda can in his hand, “I can actually breath for a night.”

“Yeah,” Matt smiled, despite the pressure building in his chest.

“We should leave early, go and do something outside of the office,” Trey said.

“Like what?”

“I got some pretty fantastically shitty cult films that just came in the mail,” Trey said. “Oh and beer.”

“Um,” Matt glanced at the clock. He could come back to the studio after the movie.

“And you’re looking at me like you want to say no,” Trey said in a dry way.

“No, yeah, I’ll meet you over at your place in an hour? Sorry, I just have stuff,” he motioned at the screen.

“’Kay,” Trey stood up slowly, like there was something else he might add, but he then just left.

Matt watched him leave, before focusing back on the story ideas. He debated whether or not he’d need to come back to the studio. He considered going home after Trey’s—but ultimately decided against it, there would be too many distractions, most notably, his bed. After the success of this past week’s episode, he knew he’d have to maintain or exceed his ideas if he wanted to keep Trey content.

Two hours later, he was standing outside Trey’s house.

“Hey,” Trey said, “you’re late, I’m already drunk.” He was still wearing the Stormtrooper zipper up jacket he’d been wearing at work but had changed into sleep pants which hung loosely over his bare feet. Matt felt strangely over dressed in his leather jacket, and shrugged it off. Trey didn’t look pissed that he was late, but then again, he wouldn’t.

“You had time to decorate this year,” Matt changed the subject. Halloween decorations hung from the ceiling, some elaborate with lights, and others; cardboard cutouts taped to the walls.

“Remember this one?” Trey pointed to the dopy plastic light up black cat smiling in stoned oblivious sort of way.

“Yeah,” Matt smiled, “I found in the dumpster behind the dorms over Thanksgiving break.”

“And there’s no need to recall what you were doing behind the dumpster,” Trey raised his eyebrows. Matt didn’t need to explain for the twentieth time that he’d been searching for his keys that he thought he’d thrown away.

“I swear you only put it out as an excuse to tell that part of the story.”

Trey continued undeterred, “You brought it to my dorm in a K-Mart bag, babbling that you’d found a cat, and I was expecting to see some stray, and you pull out that thing,” Trey pointed at the cat, and it seemed to grow even more ridiculous looking under this renewed scrutiny.

“I thought you’d like it—and look—I was right,” Matt said.

“There are better reasons to keep something around,” Trey said off-handedly, grabbing two beers from the fridge.

Matt stared at Trey’s back, and resisted the urge to ask him exactly what the hell that was supposed to mean.

“So what are we watching,” Matt asked, accepting the beer and following Trey into the living room.

“It’s called, ‘Withnail and I,’ Trey said before slumping onto the sofa next to Matt. It was easy to sit next to Trey while facing a TV screen, like some default position. The only difference was that the couch was no longer a futon, and when the movie is over he isn’t going to fold it out and sleep on it. Now he had his own couch, his own bed, his own house. Still, the general set-up didn’t seem so different.

He wished he had eaten something at the screening, because when he stood to get his third beer, the room staggered into focus for a second. He hated the warm complacent feeling that was coming over him from the alcohol. He hated the way it made him notice the things about Trey that he used to think about too much

“Do you have food?” He called, already investigating the fridge. He pushed aside Trey’s small arsenal of soda, to find containers of leftovers in various stages of deterioration.

“Nothing you’d want,” Trey said, “but bring the chips.”

Matt grabbed a handful of chips before tossing the bag to Trey, “any ideas for tomorrow?”

“Ah, god _Compartmentalize_  Matt,” Trey said, waving a chip authoritatively, “and drink more.”

Matt stared down at the half empty bottle and took another swig, “Some people have to pay for advice like that,” he said, as he watched as Trey climbed towards him.

“You can pay me if you want,” Trey said, kissing the side of Matt’s neck. Matt laughed at the corniness of the comment, but craned his neck to give Trey better access. It was always this way; they’d drink, suck each other off, then act like it was some big joke as if someone else was watching—just waiting to call them queers.

Matt turned into Trey’s kiss. He was never surprised by it, but he never felt prepared for how good it felt. The rough scratchy feeling of Trey’s stumble against his cheek went straight to Matt’s dick. He moaned softly into the other man’s mouth. Trey took that as invitation enough to unzip Matt’s fly. It was necessary that it went like this, even though Matt wanted Trey to stay—to keep kissing him like that---to keep his arms around him. Trey kissed the inside of Matt’s thigh. This was new, it threw Matt off, but his breathing quickened as Trey sucked lightly on Matt’s dick. He sometimes wondered if Trey looked up at him, and he imagined that he did as he closed his eyes. He liked to watch Trey, the effect he could have on Trey.

This had started in college, but it was never really discussed. Not in any real way. It’d continued, through girlfriends, through engagements, and Matt assumed it’d continue even if one of them got married. But it always happened at night, on Trey’s sofa, after some beers. So, yes, Matt could say he knew how to compartmentalize.

He groaned softly as he came in Trey’s mouth. “Sick dude,” Matt said, slitting his eyes open to watch Trey spit into the empty chip bag before chugging the rest of his beer. Trey shrugged and sit down next to Matt, close this time. He was warm, and it took all of Matt’s willpower to not lay his head down on his friend’s shoulder.

He stroked Trey’s leg lightly, feeling that he was hard, and taking that as invitation enough. Trey shrugged his pants down, and Matt leaned over to take Trey’s dick into his mouth. He didn’t always leaned across Trey’s thighs to suck him, but he preferred it. It meant Trey would rub his back, would touch his hair. The only loss was, he couldn’t look up at Trey’s closed eyes. When Trey finished, he handed Matt the chip bag.

The credits were rolling when he refocused on the TV. Matt stretched, “I have to get back to the office tonight.”

“For what?” Trey made a face, “no, it doesn’t matter, I’m the boss—I say when you get to quit.”

Matt blinked, and told himself that was just a joke. “That line only works on hookers,” he said tightly, carrying his beer bottles to the kitchen sink.

“Just stay,” Trey said, grabbing Matt from behind and holding him close, “I have other movies.”  

“You just want someone to drink with.”

“Don’t condescend my alcoholism like that,” he said. “Seriously, what do have to have go back to the studio for tonight? It’s already 10:30.”

“Just stuff,” Matt shoved his arms through his jacket.

“Don’t forget that we start writing in the morning.

“Yeah,” Matt said, “I think last week’s episode was good anyway.” He was fishing for validation, and spared a glance at Trey. But Trey was glancing around the room, as if something would sudden appear to recapture Matt’s interest.

“We’ll see what the ratings were in the morning I guess,” he replied. Matt wondered how hard it would be for Trey to acknowledge that the episode had been good.

“Well, I guess as long as it doesn’t seem like a bunch of shit, we’ll be ahead of the curve,” Matt said, not meeting Trey’s eyes.

“What?” Trey turned, frowning.

“Nothing,” Matt laughed loudly, opening the front door and leaving quickly.

The cool air felt good on his warm cheeks, and he knew he’d need to get a coffee before going back to the studio. He could still taste Trey in his mouth, and he wondered how many nights he’d gone to sleep tasting like beer and cum.  Tonight might be the first where he denies sleep, and he feels some power in that

When he can’t get the key in the ignition at first he wonders if he’s too drunk to drive, but it wasn’t like he could go back inside after that. Tomorrow, if Trey brought it up, he’d say that it was just another joke that wasn’t funny. He glanced down at the time in his car, it was already 11:30. He might as well go home and get changed, that way he could stay at the studio through the night and be there for the writer’s meeting in the morning. He went through the Starbucks drive-thru on his way to the studio, and was already feeling the caffeine as he turned the light on in his office.

Two hours later, he stared blankly at the blinking curser. He couldn’t come up with any ideas. The news wasn’t helping. He’d taken two Ritalin a half hour ago, but the only noticeable effect was his fingers tapping incessantly against the desk. Around 3AM his cellphone buzzed in his pocket.

“Yeah?” he said hesitantly.

“Did I wake you?” Trey’s voice was quiet, as if Matt might still be sleeping.

“Yes—no—what’s up?”

“Just wanted to make sure you got home ok,” Trey said in that closed off tone that Matt had never really been able to decipher.

“For the record, I live roughly 15 minutes away from you,” Matt said, pacing around his office, shifting things into place.

“Yeah,” Trey said. Matt waited impatiently for more.

“Did you need something else?” He said finally after a long pause—not meaning to sound annoyed.

“Um…..No,” Trey mumbled sleepily, seemingly farther away from the phone now.

“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Matt said, putting down his phone. It was like that with Trey sometimes. Knowing there was something lurking in the corner that was being unsaid. After twenty years, the easiest way to deal with it, was to play dumb, but sometimes that was harder than others. He wiped a fingerprint off of his phone’s screen and wondered if he should call Trey back.

Someone was saying his name, from too far away again, and he wondered if Trey had called him back, but as it got clearer he opened his eyes and saw Anne standing over him.

“Are you okay?” she said, waving a mug of coffee at him.

“Yeah, what?” he said, looking down at his folded arms, and lifting them up to retrieve the coffee.

“What time did you get here? It’s only 7,” she said looking worried.

“A little before then,” he said slowly, his heart racing when he realized he hadn’t finishing writing enough ideas for the meeting. “I have stuff to finish before the writer’s meeting,” he continued, shaking his mouse hastily.

“Okay,” she said uncertainly. “Let me know if there’s anything I can take care of for you.”

“Kay,” he said, already typing.

By the time they met in the writer’s room, he had one or two solid ideas. He sat impatiently as everyone filed in. Trey came in last, slumping into his chair at the opposite end of the table. Matt pitched his ideas, and everyone was receptive. He leaned back as everyone took turns, filling in side-jokes and b storylines. A few hours later, they breaked for lunch.

“What are you doing for lunch?” Trey asked, hanging back.

“I was just going to get something later,” Matt said, looking down at his phone, “I have a meeting with Comedy Central people over the special features on the Season 14 DVD, or some shit,” Matt said.

Trey nodded and picked up his notebook. “Nah, let’s just get out of here for awhile.” Matt laughed and waited for Trey let him in on the joke. “Seriously, Matt—you look like hell and you look like you could use a good sandwich.”

"Thanks Mom, but I’ll soldier on,” he says before heading purposefully towards the door. But Trey grabbed his sweatshirt from behind, and tugged him back.

"Dude, get off of me,” he said, looking nervously at the people outside the writer’s room. “I’ll go wherever you want later!”

It was unlike Trey to be assertive, and he didn’t like it. But Trey didn’t look annoyed, just blank, as he let go of Matt. “I won’t be able to write until you come out to eat with me.”

It was unfair, and Matt couldn’t believe Trey was stooping so low. Of course Matt could miss his meeting, but Trey had to write the episode. It was a game of who needs who the worst, and Trey would always win.

“Fuck you Trey, I have a meeting,” Matt said, shoving past the shorter man towards the door. Trey let him go but Matt was still relieved when he sat down in the board room for his meeting. He knew Trey wouldn’t cause a scene in front of other people, but he couldn’t help but being distracted throughout the meeting, apologizing several times for zoning out. The one good thing about the Ritalin was that he wasn’t hungry, and now that he didn’t eat, he wondered how he’d ever found time break for meals anyway.

  When he was finished he stayed busy with phone calls and meetings the rest of the day. Not that he’d run into Trey. By this point, he should be locked in his office writing the script. But Matt couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder anytime he was in the hallway.  He knew he just needed some time to calm down, but if Trey kept touching him, kept threatening him, then he wouldn’t be able to keep going through the motions that he was okay.

He didn’t see Trey outside of writer’s meetings for the next three days. And even then, everything seemed normal. But, that’s what they were good at, so he shouldn’t be so surprised. It was after midnight on Monday when Trey stood in his doorway. He looked tired, but held a script in his hands.

“The script is finished, everyone picked up their copy an hour ago,” Trey said, handing it to Matt.

“You could have sent someone else to bring it,” Matt said, flipping through the pages.

Trey responded by shutting the door to Matt’s office, then sitting across from Matt’s desk.

“What?” Matt said. Trey ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up at strange angles.

“What’s going on?” Trey said, and even though it was Matt’s office, and he was the one sitting behind the desk, he still felt like Trey was some sort of authority figure.

“Nothing,” he answered too quickly, “well, a lot actually. Business shit. You know.”

Trey raised a bored eyebrow and Matt wondered why he didn’t just leave.

“Come celebrate the script being done with me,” Trey said, standing up and throwing Matt his jacket.

“Fine,” Matt said, realizing that this was one of those things that Trey wasn’t going to let go. He followed Trey into his car.

“So we’ll record when we get back, or do we still have edits?” Matt asked, suddenly not imagining what the two of them ever talked about other than projects. And wondering if that’s why they constantly worked on new things, so they’d always have something to say to one another. As he thought about it, he felt slightly sick, and he wished they weren’t going to get something to eat.

“No, it’s pretty final, I had a lot to work with,” Trey said.

“Must be a nice change for you,” Matt said, unable to resist.

Trey laughed awkwardly, “I guess.”

They stopped at the same pub he’d come to with Eric the other week, and ordered drinks. A TV over the bar played a repeat of a game Matt had missed over the weekend. It was hard to focus, even during commercial breaks. But Trey wasn’t saying anything.

“Hey,” he said finally, drawing Matt’s attention from the screen. “So  you never told me how New York went from the other day.”

“Oh. Just more of the same,” Matt said.

He wondered what sort of confrontation Trey had been planning on having with him over beers. But whatever it was must not have seemed like it could compete against the hold of the TV. He thought of taking Eric’s advice and asking Trey if he thought Matt lacked the wit he maybe once or never had. But Trey looked too sad, twisting in his seat to watch the game with Matt. And Matt felt too tired, too unready to hear the answer, and too old to care

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story please consider [buying this goth kid a cup of coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A402111U)


End file.
